Kaliyah urged her brother to change his clothes. When they stepped outside the gate, an old man sat waiting across the street, his eyes locked onto her maliciously.
He lounged in front of the opposite house, scraping at his teeth with a filthy finger, a crooked, wicked smile stretched across his face.
A shiver crawled up Kaliyah's spine. Uneasy and unsettled, she refused to acknowledge him and hurried away, his gaze lingering on her back.
Unexpectedly, the man started a conversation with her little brother: "Who's that? Your girlfriend?"
JB frowned at the man and answered, "That's my sister."
"Is she single? " he went on, his grin widening. "Why not give her to me as my wife? I could add her to my collection."
He chuckled softly, then added, "I'll give you five thousand pesos for her."
The man's audacious words ignited a fire in Kaliyah's chest. Her former self would have already driven a blade through him without hesitation—but she was no longer that person.
The Holy Spirit had made her new after she accepted Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior.
The air went deathly still.
Kaliyah halted, her fingers curling into tight fists at her sides. Slowly, deliberately, she turned to face him. The fear in her chest solidified into something colder—sharper—dangerous.
Her brother's face drained of all color, frozen in silent dread.
Before he could utter a word, Kaliyah stepped forward. Her eyes locked not only on the old man but also on the dark presence hovering around him—the unseen spirit whispering poison into his ears.
Her voice rang out with holy authority from Jesus, burning with righteous fury.
"In the name of Jesus, I rebuke the spirit within you and your unclean thoughts."
The man fell silent at her words, his expression empty, his mind wiped clean as if something had been torn from it.
"I was bought at a price so high," Kaliyah said coldly, "that even you and all your money combined could never afford it. So keep your mouth shut."
With that, she shot him one final, razor-edged glare, spun on her heel, and disappeared into the shadowed path leading toward the forest.
As Kaliyah vanished into the trees, the air around the old man warped and twisted. The presence that had once clung to him shrieked without sound, unraveling like black smoke scattered by an unseen wind.
The whispers in his mind were gone—ripped out by a force far greater than itself.
He trembled where he sat, sweat pouring down his slack face, confusion crashing over him like a wave. The wicked grin that once lived on his lips had vanished. In its place was only hollow fear.
The street felt heavier, quieter—like the world itself had exhaled after holding its breath.
Deep in the forest's shadows, Kaliyah walked on without looking back. The Holy Spirit moved around her like unseen armor, the darkness behind her broken and defeated.
Her brother stood frozen where Kaliyah had confronted the man, his heart pounding in his chest. His hands shook as he tried to process what had just happened.
The old man's eyes were vacant, his body slack, and the whispers that had once filled the air were gone.
Awe, fear, and a newfound respect warred within him. For the first time, he truly understood the power she carried—not in her strength alone, but in the Holy Spirit that moved through her.
He hurriedly followed his sister into the forest, every step careful on the uneven ground.
The shadows seemed to shift around them, and the air was thick with a strange, almost sacred stillness.
His heart raced, not just from fear, but from awe. He whispered under his breath, barely daring to break the silence, "Praise be to God."
Every rustle of leaves and snap of a twig reminded him of whose authority Kaliyah is using—and the divine force that walked with her.
For the first time, he truly understood that this was no ordinary girl leading him through the forest; she was a vessel of God.
~~
The man—Roman, the one Kaliyah had rebuked—stirred from his daze. The wicked thoughts that had once filled his mind were gone, leaving only a hollow emptiness.
Shaking off the disorientation, he grabbed the door of their house and pushed it open. Inside, countless unclean spirits lingered, invisible to his eyes. They shifted and swirled in the shadows, their presence thick and suffocating.
Then came the laughter—a chorus of cold, chilling giggles that echoed off the walls, whispering and jeering at him.
Roman froze, but he didn't understand the warning. He remained blissfully unaware of the danger that awaited, even as the spirits' laughter grew sharper, more sinister, wrapping around him like a living nightmare.
The stench of Ronalyn Dela Mare's—the wife of Jonathan next door— and David's sin wafted through the house, a nauseating reminder of their illicit acts.
He and his brother were known for their corruption, often sharing women between them, and if the opportunity arose, they would claim every woman in the village for themselves.
"Where did you come from?" his brother David asked, exhaling a plume of cigarette smoke that curled through the heavy air.
"Just outside," Roman replied, his voice flat, almost hollow.
His eyes fell on Ronalyn, sprawled on the floor. Her eyes were closed, but her chest rose and fell—a fragile sign of life. Her body and face were smeared with fluids, the grotesque aftermath of her sin laid bare.
Yet, for the first time, Roman felt none of the usual urges that had always driven him. The lust, the hunger, the dark compulsion—all of it had vanished, stripped away as if some invisible hand had cleansed his mind.
All he wanted now was to return to his bed, to laze in idle emptiness.
The shadows around him seemed to shiver. Countless unseen spirits lingered in the corners, their cold, whispering presence pressing against the walls.
Faint, chilling laughter echoed softly through the room, as if mocking the emptiness that had taken root in him. Roman, oblivious, felt no fear, no desire—only the hollow stillness that now defined him.
David stared at his brother for a moment, confusion flickering in his eyes—but he quickly pushed it aside.
After a brief rest, he returned to assaulting Ronalyn, driven by habit and desire. Deep down, he knew what he was doing was wrong, yet he could not bring himself to care.
Correction, consequence, even the weight of conscience—none of it touched him.
All around him, the air seemed heavier, charged with a presence he could not see.
The unclean spirits Kaliyah had once rebuked lingered, whispering and shifting in the shadows, watching David's every move.